


Same dance, different rhythm

by prototyping



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Prompt Fill, Romance, aka let! them!! talk!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24868003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: Being chosen as the Blue Lions’ representative at the White Heron Cup is a bother Dimitri’s sure he can do without—right up until it proves to be a blessing in disguise.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 16
Kudos: 157





	Same dance, different rhythm

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a [prompt](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=1144028#cmt1144028) on the FE3H kinkmeme because this was too soft an idea to pass up ;;
> 
> I also managed to finish this in time for El's birthday by sheer coincidence so Happy Birthday to baby girl and I'm sorry for what I'm putting you through <3 c:

It’s nearly dinnertime when Professor Byleth finally calls off the dance lesson. Dimitri only narrowly withholds a sigh of relief, although he does allow his tired smile to finally slip off his face as he rolls his stiff shoulder.

While he does still harbor a hint of bitterness over being chosen for such a nonsensical contest－Sylvain, meanwhile, was picked for the much preferable lance competition being held this weekend (Sylvain! Over him!)－he can’t bring himself to begrudge the professor for being diligent when it comes to preparing. After all, it can’t be easy coming from a mercenary background and being expected to teach a student well enough to _win_ ; Byleth admitted at the start that he has zero experience on the matter, and he ended up falling back on Annette’s and Flayn’s eager words of advice and guidance.

Truly, Dimitri should be grateful he’s really had three teachers to learn from today… but at the moment he’s exhausted, hungry, and already feeling a little sour knowing he’ll be too spent to get in some training before bed.

Still, he’s nothing short of amicably polite as he thanks them for the lesson and takes his leave. For the moment he passes by the bustling dining hall, heading instead for his quarters for a change of clothes. The bathhouse is usually empty this time of night, so he should be able to get in and out rather quickly and only be a little late to－

“Dimitri.”

He starts out of his thoughts and stops midstep, and nearly starts again when he notices Edelgard almost within arm’s reach on his right. She must have just rounded the corner－but her expression is collected, her arms crossed and shoulders relaxed as though she’s been here.

“Ah, good evening, Edelgard.” He offers her a smile that she doesn’t return. She never returns it now. “Please, pardon my rudeness－I didn’t notice you.”

He half-expects some brusque, dismissive remark, but it doesn’t come. Even more surprising is the way she averts her eyes, dropping them to the ground with a flicker of a frown. For as long as they’ve been at the academy, she hasn’t once been the first to look away when they make eye contact.

And yet she doesn’t take her leave. She doesn’t say anything. She lingers in place, shifting her weight only slightly and otherwise poised as properly as she always is.

Was she... waiting for him?

Dimitri nips that bud of hope as quickly as it appears. No, surely not. She’s made it clear over the past year that she wants as little to do with him as possible.

“Is… everything alright?” he tries tentatively. “I didn’t mean to－”

“Who taught you to dance like that?”

He blinks at her－at the unexpected question, at how suddenly she’s fixed him with that hard, analytical stare of hers. It’s almost a challenging look, as if she’s expecting a certain response and daring him to answer correctly. It strikes him as such a probable trick question that he has to clarify to be certain.

“Originally, you mean? Because today I was－”

“Yes. Originally,” she says shortly. “The steps you demonstrated at the beginning of your lesson, specifically.”

A light flush crawls up his neck. When was _she_ there? He noticed the Black Eagles’ representative likewise practicing further down the lawn, but he never saw Edelgard present. It was embarrassing enough having to recall his rusty skills for the professor; to know that _she_ saw that pitiful display, too…

Is that why she’s asking? Is she trying to make him feel self-conscious for letting all her lessons go to waste? If so, she’s doing a marvelous job.

She’s still watching him, still waiting. Now he’s the one to look away.

“Too little, too late, I suppose. But I am sorry I haven’t had much opportunity to hone my skill in recent years, mediocre as it was to start with.”

Edelgard’s stare turns even sharper. “What are you talking about?”

Dimitri stares back, truly at a loss now. “What are _you_ referring to? I’m－trying to say I’m sorry that you spent so much time teaching me for nothing.” He winces, and adds more quietly, “Although, I hope that isn’t how you feel.”

It’s too dark to tell for sure, but he swears the color drains from her already pale face.

“That’s impossible,” she replies flatly. Maybe he’s imagining that slight waver in her voice, too.

“I’m－I’m sorry?”

“You’re saying I taught you?” Edelgard tries for a sneer but it’s forced and falls short. “Impossible,” she repeats. “When would I have done this?”

Dimitri holds her gaze steadily. A few of the missing pieces are starting to come together.

“When you visited Fhirdiad with Lord Arundel,” he says calmly, quietly.

The attempt at a smile is wiped from her face as she stiffens.

“Do you truly not remember?”

Her lips twitch soundlessly. Again, she avoids his gaze.

He takes a step closer but her glare freezes him in place. He can see the alarm in it, the distrust－and while it stings, it gives him a little hope, too. Maybe he’s touched on something. Maybe she isn’t inexplicably indifferent towards him, after all.

“My father and I visited you,” he reminds her. His tone is low and soft, as if she’s one of the monastery cats who might flee if he speaks too loudly, approaches too quickly. “Many times during the year you were there. You taught me to dance. You saw your first snowfall. I… I gave you a dagger as a parting gift, of all things.” He smiles self-consciously, but also fondly. “I noticed you still carry it. That makes me－”

“Stop.” Edelgard’s fingers dig into her sleeves as she stares at the ground, somewhere behind him, his chest, anywhere but at Dimitri directly. Despite the unease radiating off of her in waves, her voice is steady again, commanding.

“Edelgard－” he tries, but she spins on her heel and departs at the fastest pace she can manage without breaking into a run. “Wait! Edelgard!”

She ignores him. He watches her flee up the stairs towards the training grounds, not once slowing or looking back before she eventually rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

* * *

“Lady Edelgard.”

She breaks from her thoughts and glances up at Hubert, who’s watching her intently. She notes the insistence in his voice; she must have been spacing out more deeply than she realized.

“Does something trouble you?”

The weight in her stomach hasn’t left much room for an appetite, but she reaches for the untouched cup of tea in front of her. “No. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

He continues to watch her without comment. She knows he won’t push—not unless he suspects a legitimate danger to either her or her plans—and she’s never been so grateful for those unspoken boundaries as she is now.

They’ve claimed one of the far tables in the dining hall to break their fast. From here she can barely see the table where the Blue Lions sit; from here she can avoid looking and noticing if Dimitri is looking back.

Edelgard rubs her temple and holds back a sigh. She didn’t get much sleep last night and that frustrates her—not the lack of rest as much as the lack of control, her irritating inability to rein in her thoughts and feelings—

_Feelings._

She hates thinking of it that way. Feelings are unpredictable and illogical, and unexpected ones like these are much harder to reason away into the back of her mind as motivation, something useful.

Her hands turn the teacup around without raising it. After a night of mulling it over and debating with herself and her broken memory, Edelgard has decided the prince isn’t lying. His words were too accurate, that self-reprimanding expression of his when he mentioned the dagger all too genuine. If she’s confident in any part of her opinion of him, it’s that he’s much too open and tenderhearted to put on an act that convincing.

As far as she can perceive, it would make no sense for him to lie, either. Even if it was a purely political play on his end, the two of them are, by strictest and most unfeeling definition, family; there would be no need for him to go that far to try and slip into her good graces.

She really can’t imagine he’s lying.

She’s not sure which she would prefer.

She rubs her temple again. “I have a headache,” she mutters, partly to herself, as if that reasons everything away—as if she can look forward to this tumult of uncertainty and bitterness and wistfulness to fade away in a day just as the throbbing in her skull eventually will.

“Allow me to fetch something for it,” Hubert offers.

“Please do.”

* * *

As predicted, Dimitri makes multiple efforts to catch her attention throughout the day. Edelgard pretends not to notice any of them—his attempts to meet her eye, the way he loiters in the hall. When he rises from his table during lunch, she doesn’t wait to see if he’s headed in her direction before doing the same, escaping through the nearest door despite only having finished half her meal.

When she doesn’t see him at dinner, she dares to hope he’s running late with another dance lesson and she’ll manage to miss him entirely. More importantly, she dares to hope that she’s gotten her message across: that _she_ (perhaps) will come to _him_ when (if) she’s ready to talk, assuming she decides there’s anything _to_ talk about—which there isn’t—and feels like addressing it (she doesn’t, she can’t, it doesn’t matter now).

Content—more or less—with that optimistic plan of resolution, Edelgard stands from her table with her tray in hand and turns to leave—only to walk directly into Dimitri, who’s standing behind her.

He doesn’t so much as budge when the tray smacks into his chest but she backsteps hastily on reflex with a startled noise—stumbling over her chair, losing her footing, and abruptly falling backwards as the tray jerks in her hands. Before she can react, he catches her arm in one hand and snatches her teacup out of the air with the other; another hand wraps around her elbow and in the corner of her eye Hubert has lunged forward beside her, likewise intercepting her plate before it hits the tabletop.

The chatter around them dies instantly. She stares up at Dimitri as he stares back, his mild surprise and concern compared to what she can only imagine is a blend of shock and dread on her own face.

Recovering, she shakes both men off of her and straightens up with a stiff, unspecified “Thank you” before slipping around Dimitri and continuing on her way.

“Edelgard—”

She doesn’t stop until she’s outside. Both of them have followed, of course, and while Dimitri’s attention is entirely fixed on her, Hubert is side-eying him with wary suspicion.

“Please, Edelgard—just a moment.”

Her arms cross with a huff. “A moment,” she concedes.

“I apologize if I said something to upset you before.” His words nearly tumble over one another and she can only imagine he’s been rehearsing this all day. “It was never my intention to offend you, and I never meant to imply anything—untoward about your character.”

“You did nothing of the sort,” she replies shortly. “You need not apologize for anything.”

He drops his gaze, expression conflicted; Hubert takes the chance to send her a questioning look that she acknowledges and dismisses in the same glance.

“Is that not why you’ve been avoiding me?” Dimitri wonders, and this time it’s her turn to look away—again, and she hates it, the sudden void in her chest where her cold confidence usually sits—as she searches for words that are firm without being cruel.

In the end, all she can manage is a simple,

“No.”

He doesn’t back down. “Then—may I ask to speak with you on the matter? When you’re ready,” he adds gently. “I… don’t want to leave things like this.”

She’s glad he’s asking first. She’s glad he has the sense to keep his words vague in Hubert’s presence—not that it matters, being Hubert, but it shows a logical side to Dimitri’s emotions that she’s been convinced wasn’t there.

That gratitude, and the few extra points of respect it brings, finally convinces her to nod. “Very well.”

He gives her a smile that’s all too hopeful and naive. “Thank you. Please, feel free to call on me at any time.” He offers her a deep bow, and then Hubert a polite nod, before disappearing back into the hall.

When Edelgard starts in the other direction moments later, Hubert falls in beside her immediately.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” she reiterates.

She’s not sure whom she’s trying to convince.

* * *

It doesn’t take her long to resign to speaking with him. Ultimately, she figures there’s no real way of preparing for it—it all comes down to listening to whatever he has to say and then breaking it to him that it doesn’t matter anymore, it can’t matter, because the past is done and the girl he knew only lives in his memory now.

Edelgard decides to catch him after his dance lesson one evening, but as luck would have it, the day she goes looking for him is the first day this week that he can’t be found practicing. None of his usual entourage are present near their classroom, either, and a quick word with Dorothea confirms that the Lion House appears to have skipped lessons today.

Mildly annoyed that the tables of impatience have been turned on her, Edelgard treks back towards the dormitories with the resolve (and relief) of trying again tomorrow. She isn’t going to try his room—that’s too noticeable—and she isn’t going to spend time hunting him down. They’ll cross paths sooner or later.

She’s passing the doors to the training grounds when her common sense makes a suggestion and brings her to a halt.

Dimitri is there, unsurprisingly—and alone, dressed down to his training clothes. He either doesn’t notice her entering or doesn’t realize it’s her; he continues his exercises with his wooden lance, concentrating on his footwork by the look of it.

Edelgard observes. She’s noticed how carefully he moves on a day-to-day basis, the way he handles everything in his hands as though it might bite him. Even during the mock battles between the houses, he always looked tense when engaging, his motions measured as though he were holding back—the exception being when he clashed with Edelgard, promising with that puzzling smile that he would do no such thing.

But now his motions are fast, free, intense, the calm flow of someone moving without hindrance or reservation. She finds she appreciates the display all the more for the contrast—free of the bindings of his Crest, enjoying himself as he can only do when he isn’t standing in its shadow.

Not long ago, Edelgard would be lamenting the loss of such strength to her cause; now that’s the farthest thing from her mind as she watches him, his movements much more natural and fluid than his dance steps and that much harder to look away from.

Eventually, she clears her throat and he freezes.

“Edelgard?”

“Neglecting your dance lesson, I see.” Despite the criticizing arch of her eyebrow, her tone is light. “The competition is next week, if I’m not mistaken.”

Dimitri breaks into a sheepish smile as he makes his way over, his lance dropping to his side. “Our professor had other matters to attend to. And I felt… uneasy, having missed so much training lately.”

A predictable answer. Edelgard hums briefly in acknowledgement before cutting to the chase. “You wanted to speak with me.”

His expression quickly returns to its default serious. “I did. Thank you for giving me the opportunity.” He hesitates. “Would you give me a moment to change? We can go somewhere more—”

“Here is fine. I don’t imagine this will take long.”

Hurt flickers over his face, but he’s quick to nod. “Of course.” The lance creaks in his grip as he takes a moment to choose his words. “I know much has happened since then, for both of us. We’ve changed. And… if you’ve forgotten our time together, perhaps I misunderstood—” He frowns, and then amends, “Perhaps I misjudged its importance to you.”

Edelgard’s chest tightens. That isn’t true at all. It’s the very opposite.

“Regardless, it still means a lot to me.” He pauses. “ _You_ still mean a lot to me,” he says quietly, and Edelgard can’t decide if she hates or envies how easily and unguarded he wears his heart on his sleeve like this. It’s the opposite of everything she’s sculpted herself into being—he’s willingly exposing himself to her to be accepted or rejected as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. He’s either out of his mind, foolish, brave, or a mix of all three. “At the very least, I would like to start over,” he adds hopefully.

She’s not quite sure how he means that, but she quickly decides she doesn’t care.

_It doesn’t matter, it can’t._

Again her arms cross over her chest, her natural defense. “We’re past that, Dimitri.”

“Why?”

She swallows the anger licking at the back of her throat—except it’s not anger, it’s something uglier and more vulnerable than that. But she can pretend.

“Because we aren’t children anymore,” she snaps. “We’re not simply Edelgard and Dimitri. We’re Adrestia and Faerghus—”

“That’s all the more reason to try, isn’t it?” There’s a confused, desperate note to his voice as he leans to try and catch her eye. “I don’t understand what politics has to do with it.”

He doesn’t sound angry, not even defensive. She wishes he would—it would make it easier to dismiss him, to write him off as overbearing and his insistence as self-interest.

“It—We can’t,” she forces out. “I’m not telling you to forget those memories—if they’ve ever supported you, I’m glad. Keep holding on to them.” She meets his eyes and immediately wishes she didn’t. They’re so much more open and honest than a politician’s eyes should be, and she knows she’s stung him again before she even gets the words out. “But they are only memories. Nothing more.” She turns to take her leave. “Goodnight, Dimitri.”

He reaches after her, but impulsively, and doesn’t actually lay a hand on her.

He doesn’t have to.

“Wait! Please, El—”

She stops.

She turns back sharply, feeling as though he just punched the air from her chest. He’s still there, still reaching for her, his eyes searching her face.

Despite all logic and probability, there’s been a part of her—a large part—that’s kept Dimitri’s words at arm’s length, not entirely convinced of his sincerity. He could have learned she once lived in Faerghus; he could have guessed about the dancing, and the dagger.

But the name—

_Her_ name—

And his expression, those ridiculously bright blue eyes, once too big for his small face and always giving the impression that he might start crying at any moment—

“It really was you.”

Her voice is so quiet that she’s surprised he hears her. His hand lowers, relaxed—relieved?—and he takes a small step closer. She doesn’t recoil.

“Did you find a way to cut your path, El?”

The question is soft, as gentle as his hands are strong. That ugly sensation is in her throat again—as well as her chest, her eyes, making it hard to think and breathe and see straight.

She remembers.

After a long moment of collecting herself, and staring hard at the ground until she’s positive her voice won’t shake, Edelgard manages to gather her thoughts and her wits.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” It doesn’t come out as demanding as she wants it to, but it’s clipped enough that she—hopefully—sounds composed.

“Well…” Dimitri looks away awkwardly. “You treated me like a stranger. I thought… that you had perhaps outgrown me, or… that I had even offended you when we parted as children.”

She’s aware of her expression slipping just slightly. “No,” she murmurs, “not at all.”

It’s difficult opening up again, even a little. She has to breathe deep, and hold it, and picture that sad little boy holding a sharp blade in his soft hands.

“What you said to me then… I’ve carried it with me ever since.” The silence is almost painful between her words, pressing heavy on her ears until her head hums. “I don’t know where I would be otherwise.”

She meets his eyes again. He can’t possibly understand the extent of her meaning, or the depth of her gratitude, but there’s so much attentiveness and warmth in his face that for a moment she could almost believe her implication transcends something as simple as words. Almost.

Just in case, she uses them anyway.

“Thank you, my dear friend.”

She can’t tell if her words or her smile prompts that look of surprise, but Dimitri quickly smiles in turn and there’s something much more unguarded about this one. Something more genuine.

“El… I won’t ask again if it truly makes you so uncomfortable.” The look fades and he’s searching her face again. Hoping. “But I will say that I will always be there for you, no matter what. You need only say the word.”

He can’t possibly know how empty that promise really is.

But Edelgard finds that it means so much to her regardless. She just wishes she could say the same.

She shakes her head slightly, her smile wry and a little sad. “You were right when you said we’ve both changed. You shouldn’t be so trusting of someone who’s practically a stranger to you now.” It’s more of a gentle warning than a reprimand.

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I meet a stranger.”

Her lips twist to contain her exasperated laugh. “I mean it, Dimitri. I’m no longer the girl who taught you to dance. I imagine you’re no longer the boy who couldn’t hold a lance without snapping it in two.” He’s much more confident in how he holds his weapons, himself. How he speaks. He’s still so naive and idealistic but he’s grown into the part of a prince some more since then, just like he’s grown into all those awkward angles and filled them out, and rather nicely—

She cuts off that thought before it can get any more dangerous.

Dimitri breaks into a grin and she has the feeling very few people see the look. “I’m afraid that still happens quite often,” he admits. “And I’m sure you’re still quite the rigorous instructor.”

“Rigorous?” she echoes. “I’ll have you know I went easy on you. You were much too clumsy to go at the pace I wanted.”

His eyebrows rise in the most un-princely face she’s seen him make. “Easy? El, I would be sore for _days_.”

She settles her fist on her hip and returns the skeptical look. “That’s only because you didn’t practice enough.”

“Hours a day weren’t enough?”

“Clearly not, if you’re still struggling with your current lessons.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Edelgard feels an admittedly childish sense of smug satisfaction at the victory. “Speaking of which, you really should get back to that, if you’re honestly entertaining any hopes of winning the contest.”

“I am not,” he confesses flatly. “I still can’t fathom why I was chosen.”

But he’s far too competitive to simply give in, she knows, and too eager to please others to turn his professor down. She pities him, although she’s not sure it’s really pity.

“Well, for starters, your posture needs work.” She tilts her head thoughtfully, recalling what she’s seen of his progress. “You’re much too tense. You look like you’re about to head onto a battlefield rather than the dance floor.”

“That may be because I’m more comfortable on a battlefield than the dance floor.”

Sighing sharply, Edelgard tugs the lance from his hand and tosses it aside. “Starting stance. Show me.” When he stares at her, she waves a hand to indicate that he hurry along. “Well? Do you want my help or no?”

“Oh—Yes, of course, but—isn’t this unfair to your House?”

Now she doesn’t even try to hide her smirk. “If you actually think you stand a chance at besting Dorothea, I’m afraid you’re in for a rude awakening. The most I can guarantee is a more graceful defeat on your part.”

Dimitri actually laughs and the cadence in it is familiar, even though the sound is so much deeper than before. “I suppose that is the best I can hope for. Very well, I would appreciate the guidance.”

* * *

What’s meant to be a few pointers grows into an entire lesson; a few minutes turn into an hour, and that one night becomes another, and then several. They move their one-on-one practice to the Goddess Tower, where interruption—and discovery—is much less likely, and for a couple fleeting hours each night Edelgard does her best to polish him into something better than just decent.

Dimitri’s a quick learner, and an eager one, but outside of battle he looks so out of place in his own body more often than not. A thread of tension always runs through him when he first puts his hands on her; he looks positively guilt-stricken every time he steps on her or grips her fingers a little too hard, but Edelgard eventually learns to ignore it and shortly after that his flustered apologies stop, replaced instead with embarrassed laughs and awkward smiles that she likes a lot better.

She tells herself she’ll end it the second he starts prying again—but Dimitri, perhaps more insightful than she realizes, or at least sympathetic, only speaks positively of the present and fondly of the past. He recounts warm memories of their days in Fhirdiad; he doesn’t ask questions about her time since then, or her future.

Realistically, Edelgard knows it can’t last.

On the last night before the White Heron Cup, she finds there’s nothing left to drill into him. She reminds him to keep his eyes on hers and relax his shoulders, but he could probably perform this dance in his sleep by now. Regardless, they go through it once, twice, again, silently moving back into starting position as soon as it ends.

“I’ve never seen you so quiet while instructing,” Dimitri speaks up finally. “Dare I hope I’ve gained your approval?”

“You earned that once I was certain you were taking this seriously. There’s been much less whining this time.” Her expression is a warm one, almost a little teasing, even. Dimitri glances away with a chuckle and the hand on her back moves absently, his fingers working lightly in a manner that could almost be mistaken for a caress.

“Perhaps all you had to do was threaten to make me perform in front of a room full of people.”

She breathes softly through her nose. “You’ll do fine, Dimitri.” It’s a simple but confident remark and she feels him relax a little more, even as he continues to avoid her eyes. She’s noticed he seems to have… not _difficulty_ accepting praise, but it tends to make him squirm a little. It’s grown on her as endearing and she can’t help pushing a bit further: “You have much better posture now. You’re not afraid to lead, and you’ve done well memorizing the steps. You just need to keep your head high and your confidence up and you won’t have any trouble.”

His hand fidgets slightly around hers. He’s still smiling but his eyes can’t seem to settle on any one place. She can’t tell if that’s a light blush starting around his collar. “Thank you,” he says finally, shyly.

“Eyes,” she reminds him coolly and he sets his gaze on hers—and for an instant there’s something different in it, something piercing and heated and focused compared to the usual playful warmth.

Edelgard coughs quietly as she turns her head aside, disguising her own impulse to look away and, hopefully, the small shiver that runs down her back. When she looks up again his eyes are normal and she wonders if she imagined it.

They move through the last few steps a moment later and she takes that as her cue to wind things down. When she doesn’t immediately move after the dance ends, Dimitri blinks at her curiously.

“El?”

Her heart skips a beat, just as it’s continued to do every time he says her name.

“We’ll stop here. You should take the extra time to rest up for tomorrow.”

Dimitri either can’t or doesn’t bother to hide his reluctance. “Oh… Yes, I suppose you have a point.”

Despite the agreement, neither one of them moves away. His hold on her is light and she could break out of it easily, but she doesn’t, instead lingering between this and what she needs to say.

“Also… after tonight I think it’s best that we return to the way things were.” She stares at his chest as she says it but she can see the hurt on his face, anyway. “It’s better that way.”

“El.”

“I can’t explain now, but you’ll understand later.”

“El, look at me. Please.”

She does. He stares at her, searching her eyes again for a hint of what she isn’t saying, but it’s in vain.

“Do you trust me, Dimitri?”

“Of course,” he answers instantly, seriously.

“Then please, trust me when I say I know what I’m doing.” Her hand on his shoulder tightens briefly. “The memory of our time together as children… it strengthened me, more than I could ever hope to explain. I hope these new memories can do the same for you in some way.” She releases him and takes a step back. “But that’s all they should be.”

Suddenly he’s gathered both of her hands between his—not forceful, never forceful, but the gesture makes her hesitate.

“If you’re in some sort of trouble, you can tell me,” he assures her—pleads with her, almost, and she wonders what scenarios he’s thought up for her apparent indifference. “If there’s anything I can do—just say the word, and my strength is yours. However you need it.”

There’s a note in his voice that she doesn’t recognize and she blames the shadows for that unfamiliar flicker of… something across his face.

For an instant Edelgard entertains the idea—if she told him the truth, if she _asked_ him to help her… which side of his soft heart would win out? His partiality for her or the optimistic ideology that he was raised in?

She doesn’t linger on the hope. Even if he sided with her now, it would be impulsive and temporary; he’ll never accept the sorts of decisions she’s prepared to make, the actions or the sacrifices.

If he did, she would only have succeeded in dragging another person—a loved one—down to a place where no one else deserves to be. She would be making him into the kind of person that she vowed she would be the last of, who would no longer be needed in the world she hopes to create.

She shakes her head stiffly. “There’s nothing you can do. Forget these last few days if you prefer, but don’t—”

“I can’t do that, El.” His hands twitch but they don’t tighten. Even now, at the height of emotion, he’s wary of hurting her with his strength. He’s doing his best to be gentle, and realizing that makes this all the more difficult.

She stares down at their hands, reluctant to look at his face because it’s dangerous for too many reasons to count now. It’s dangerous like that ugly vulnerability weighing down her chest, like the way his smile makes her heart race and his careful touches make her want more and she can’t stand to see him so hurt and confused like he is now.

Her tone turns cold and hard, the feigned indifference she’s best at. “Then don’t. But I can’t stay.”

She doesn’t pull free. She wants him to release her first, to _let_ her go. It will be better for him in the long run, surely.

It takes him a long moment, but Dimitri finally does. His grip loosens until it’s just her left hand in his right—and he raises it to his lips as he bows to her, holding her gaze all the while. The kiss across her knuckles is warm through her glove and she can’t tell if it’s his touch or his bold stare that sends another shockwave of sensation down her spine.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t change your mind.”

It sounds genuine. Edelgard wouldn’t doubt that it is.

She huffs sharply, exasperated—“You’re _impossible_ ”—and cups the back of his head in her hand to pull him forward and catch his mouth in a kiss.

He stiffens in surprise but she doesn’t care: she’s already committed. He can just push her away if he doesn’t want it. She threads her fingers through his hair and kisses him again, fumbling her way through this first-time sensation until he finally responds by pulling her flush against him—clumsily, roughly, probably leaving marks on her sides.

“It’s not just about you,” she breathes against his lips. It would be so much simpler if it was.

“Then what are you doing?” His voice is low and deep and it hums against her skin in a way that feels all too right.

“Getting this out of your system.”

They both accept the flimsy reasoning and don’t say anything else.

Being touched like this is a shock to her senses. His hands are—respectfully—all over her, rubbing her back and settling on her hips and holding her face, and his mouth is hungry and curious, but it’s the absolute opposite of the cold and detached and shameless touches that still haunt her nightmares. He’s warm, considerate, and despite his clumsiness he’s observant, repeating the motions that make her fingers fist in his jacket and concentrating on the spots that make her breath stutter.

He’s touching her because he wants _her_. The reason is as simple as that.

She gets the impression that it’s his first kiss, as well. They move at the same tentative but determined pace that quickly grows deeper, bolder, and his tongue has been in her mouth for some time before it occurs to him to remove those damn gauntlets. His bare palm on the back of her neck makes all the difference and to Edelgard’s embarrassment a moan slips out before she can bite it back, but the sound must stoke something inside him because he suddenly drops his mouth to the side of her throat, kissing as far down as her collar will allow.

“El—” His breath is hot, his voice heavy, and she presses her thighs together to try to appease the heat pounding between them. “Let me hear you.”

Pride wrestles with desire and Edelgard hesitates—but when his lips tug experimentally at her skin, she stiffens, and when they pass over her pounding pulse she presses him closer until he gets the hint and suckles on the spot, increasingly harder until she feels his teeth and then she lets him have that moan, and another.

She helps him work his jacket off, and then her own, and hisses his name as his firm body catches hers against the wall, much warmer without that extra layer. Her hands slip beneath his undershirt to admire the muscles in his back and she hums her approval, fingertips pressing into his spine as he starts kneading her thigh in one hand. Dimitri returns to her mouth and she welcomes it eagerly, pulling his lip between hers and biting. A low growl thrums in his chest and she’s fully aware of the half-hard presence between his hips, as aware as she is of the ache still building between her own.

Her thin undershirt is suddenly _stifling_. For a moment she imagines him tearing it off of her like it’s nothing, giving his hands room to roam her smallclothes before discarding those as well and touching her all over—

But then her fingertips catch on a break in his skin—a welt, a scar?—halfway up his back and the reminder hits her like cold water on her face.

Her scars. He can’t see her scars.

This is supposed to be their conclusion, a sendoff, but if he finds evidence for his suspicions then it will never end. She’ll never shake him or his concern.

She really _isn’t_ thinking straight. She’s pushed her luck far enough.

Her hands withdraw from his shirt to hold his face again, pulling him into a long but simple kiss that she’s slow to break. They’re both breathing hard as Dimitri touches his warm forehead to hers; he must have sensed the change in pace.

“This shouldn’t go any further,” she pants, even as her heart continues to hammer and every inch of skin buzzes with hot desire.

Dimitri’s hands are on her hips again. “Alright,” he says simply, quietly.

That’s it. No coaxing touches, no conflict or disappointment in his expression, no objections whatsoever. He just presses the lightest of kisses to her cheek before pulling back and drawing up to his full height again—and from this angle she can admire the flustered heat in his skin, the way his hair is tousled and out of place.

Edelgard clears her throat and runs a hand through her own mess of hair. “Dimitri…”

He smiles wistfully. “This secret is safe with me. No need to worry.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

Unlike the silence of their dancing, this one is heavy and awkward and uncertain.

“El...”

She can already tell his words are going to sting. She holds his gaze and keeps her head high, anyway.

“If things were different… You and I—do you think…”

“It doesn’t do any good to think that way,” she answers. Calm. Logical.

Dimitri gives a hesitant nod as he looks away. “Yes... You’re right.”

“...But yes. I would prefer that things were different.” Her fingers tighten in her sleeves and she forces herself to meet his surprised stare. If she thought she was being intimate with him before, it’s nothing compared to now: she lets him see the regret on her face, the open heartache, the grief for what could have been.

She lets him know that she means it.

Dimitri huffs softly, as though it’s all a remarkably unfunny inside joke between them. “I suppose that will have to be enough.” He studies her face for a few beats. “I meant what I said, El. If you ever need me…”

“I know.”

Another pause. Another nod. “You never did answer me before. About whether you found your path.”

Edelgard smiles slightly, but it’s her usual smile: lukewarm and practiced and giving nothing away. “I did. And I promise you, I intend to see it through.”

In contrast, his smile is as open and naive as ever. “I’m glad to hear it. I hope you do.”

* * *

“Edie!”

Edelgard turns in her seat as Dorothea slips nimbly onto the bench beside her, her usual charming smile interrupted by a half-hearted pout. “You didn’t make it to the show!”

“I’m sorry, Dorothea. Something came up and I lost track of time.” Specifically, Thales had terrible timing— _as always_ —and imposed on her at the last minute for an impromptu meeting the night before. It really was a shame; besides promising Dorothea, she wanted to see for herself how well Dimitri performed, even though she made him no promises.

“Well, it was your loss,” Dorothea chirps. “The competition was more intense than I expected. I think you would have been impressed!”

“Is that so?” Edelgard wonders evenly. “Did you win full points? Or did someone actually manage to turn one of the judges against you?”

“One? Ha! Try _two_.” She sounds mildly put out as she waves a dismissive hand. “I don’t think any of us expected Dimitri to swoop in with so much talent. I certainly didn’t. He must have been holding back during—” She catches Edelgard’s wide-eyed stare and pauses. “Edie?”

“He _won_?”

“Right? Even he looked shocked!”

At a loss for words, Edelgard simply listens as Dorothea recounts the whole competition from start to finish in great, dramatic detail. She ends the account with a small sigh and shake of her head.

“Who’d have thought, hmm? He certainly didn’t carry himself like the strong brute everyone makes him out to be. I guess that’s just more exaggerated gossip.”

Edelgard smothers a small, fond smile. “I’m sure it is.”


End file.
